


adding shadows to the walls of the cave

by WhatsATerrarium



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [3]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Medical Experimentation, Overdosing, Tier 5, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: As pathetic as it sounds, Joan had moved past the point of escape attempts a long time ago. She’d passed the point of trying to plead with Ellie or any of the scientists or guards. She’d passed the point of ever hoping to get out of here.OR: In which Joan is repurposed by the AM, just not as a therapist.(Written for the prompt 'Made a Lab Rat' on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.)
Relationships: Joan Bright & Ellie Wadsworth, Joan Bright & Mark Bryant
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631503
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17
Collections: Bad Things Happen





	adding shadows to the walls of the cave

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Sedated" by Hozier.
> 
> Thank you to the amazing boston_sized_city for reading through before I posted!

Joan wakes up strapped to a table. No matter how many times she wakes that way, it never gets less disorienting. She hates waking up unable to move. Her arms, legs, torso, and even her neck are strapped down, there’s a gag in her mouth, and all she can see above her is the blinding fluorescent lights of the lab. She winces a little, squeezing her eyes shut and praying she’ll be able and allowed to fall back asleep, given that she woke up naturally and there doesn’t seem to be anyone around.

She’s not sure why or how long she’s been here, and she’s honestly not sure she wants to find out. No, she’ll just go back to sleep— or at the very least pretend to, and pray that they’ll put her under before whatever experiment they’re doing today.

That would be nice. A few hours in a nice, comfortable, sedative-induced nap. And then she would wake back up in her comfortable-enough cell and be able to get back to reading one of the books she’d annoyed Ellie into letting her have.

As pathetic as it sounds, Joan had moved past the point of escape attempts a long time ago. She’d passed the point of trying to plead with Ellie or any of the scientists or guards. She’d passed the point of ever hoping to get out of here.

It had been a reasonable decision at the time. She had her cell. It wasn’t too warm or comfortable, but she had a decent cot and an extra blanket, and a pillow that was, well… not entirely awful.

She had her books to keep her from getting bored. Mostly textbooks and research material, because God forbid Ellie Wadsworth not have the most intellectual conversation partner possible when she stood outside Joan’s cell and tried to (metaphorically, thankfully) pick her brain for a half hour or so every few days. It wasn’t that she doesn’t enjoy those just fine, but given her circumstances, she had always felt a little pang of delight every time something fiction ended up getting tossed her way. Fiction meant a brief escape from reality.

Then again, it hasn’t been a very effective escape as of late.

Most importantly, though, she had Mark. They let her see him once a week. They brought them both to an observation room and let them sit at a table. They got to talk, and she relished it, even if there wasn’t much to talk about. They got to hug when their hour of visiting was up and it had been the only thing in Joan’s life that mattered much at all. It was why she brought herself to wake up every day, what kept her from snapping and punching Ellie in the face every time she tried to talk to her. It’s what she thinks about every time she’s in pain.

Any pain was worth the chance to hug her brother.

The pain  _ had been _ worth it.

And it looks as though she’s going to be reminded of the price she’d paid soon, because the scientists who have just entered the room are chattering loudly, though she can unfortunately barely make out anything about the experiment.

She hates to admit that she likes when Ellie is in the room. Ellie always tells her what they’re doing to her. She talks to Joan about what’s happening to her own body like she’s a patient whose file they’re reading together. It outrages her, but it’s better than having no clue what’s going on.

Ellie isn’t here right now, though. At least, she can’t hear her. And so, no one explains to her what the nodes they’re attaching to her are for. She almost entertains the notion of trying to thrash around on the table. Being non-cooperative enough that they’ll have to sedate her to proceed with whatever they’re doing today.

Normally, she’d be afraid of that sort of thing happening. Afraid of being unconscious and having her body left under the control of people who certainly don’t have her best interest at heart. But she’s come to terms with the fact that nothing she could do would be able to stop them. She can’t save herself. And if she can’t stop them from doing whatever it is they’re going to do to her, she might as well not have to suffer through it.

She’d also normally be terrified of the dependence she’s coming to have on sedation, but if it’s an addiction, it’s not like her life could be made much worse for it. No, for now, all that whatever it is they give her does is allow her a sleep that comes swiftly and is lacking in nightmares. If it causes her mind and body to slowly deteriorate, then what does it matter? All that can really mean is a tough break for the people experimenting on her. If it suckers her in, preying on the addictive tendencies she knows run in her family, then so what? It’s not like she has much of a life to be taken over anymore.

At some point, your life gets to be so pointless, monotonous, and  _ bad  _ that that which is harmful can no longer harm you more than your surroundings already have. It’s not a circumstance she enjoys being in, but she was never exactly given the choice. She might as well take pleasure where she can find it, given her newly found lack of consequence.

She starts to kick at her restraints, failing miserably at much actual movement, but making up for it by continuing to thrash the rest of her body as much as possible. The hands that grab hold of her trying to still her make her skin crawl, and so she tries as best she can to force them off of her.

She’s done with the pain that these experiments always bring. Done with having to sit silently through being poked and prodded and monitored as they use her for God knows what. Observing the physical and mental effects on her of the abilities of the patients they bring in, trying to observe her brain’s reactions to things like pain compared to that of an atypical, testing new additions to Ellie’s long-incomplete attempt at immunity.

She tries to thrash her body as much as she can. She squirms so much that the strain of her limbs and neck against the straps hurts. She doesn’t care. When her limbs grow tired and they’re capable of holding her in place more successfully, she tries to scream around the cloth in her mouth.

It comes out muffled, but between that and her weakened yet persistent attempts at movement, it appears she’s starting to get on their nerves, because all of a sudden, one of them is walking towards her, syringe in hand.

She feels the unpleasant prick of the needle in her neck, and though it isn't taking effect yet, she immediately quiets down. She relaxes her muscles on her own before they begin to relax involuntarily. Her vision is starting to fade as she feels them start to hook her up to more machines. As she closes her eyes and tries to distract herself from the unpleasant and intrusive feeling, she briefly wonders what the experiment is.

She’s barely able to think of a possibility before she feels herself start to slip away.

She wakes back in her cell, and, upon sitting up, is greeted by a rather unfortunate sight.

“Hello, Joan.”   
  
She grunts and falls back down onto her cot.

“I heard about your little stunt during the experiment today.” Ellie continues talking, apparently unfazed by Joan’s lack of interest. “I really wish you would learn to cooperate.”   
  
Despite having years of experience telling her otherwise, Joan hopes that Ellie won’t continue on the conversation if she’s the only one talking.

Her assumption is right, and her hopes are swiftly crushed. Though she barely registers the feeling of disappointment anymore.

“You used to behave so well. What happened?”

While she may be too numb to feel disappointed, irritation and anger still has the ability to pervasively creep its way into her gut.

_ “What happened?” _ she spits through gritted teeth.

“I understand you’re upset about Mark, but you need to understand that accidents happe--”

“Oh, so tell me,” she responds, “was it an  _ accident _ that you kidnapped him and locked him up down here? Was it an  _ accident _ that you  _ tortured him _ with all your sick experiments? Tell me, Ellie, was it a fucking  _ accident _ that you forced him into an experiment with that poor girl, gave her an untested and unsafe serum, and  _ killed her?” _

_ “Some _ of those things were accidental, yes--”   
  
Joan sits up fully this time, nearly feeling sick as she stares into the eyes of a person she used to care about, used to  _ love. _ “I know that accidents happen, Ellie. But shit like what happened to Mark doesn’t happen without a series of unforgivable and reprehensible shit happening beforehand. And now because of that reprehensible shit--” she pauses what has turned into shouting to wipe the tears that have begun to flow from her eyes.  _ “...Because of you _ I might never be able to see him again. So yes, I’m still fucking upset.”

Ellie doesn’t respond to that, and Joan wishes she could savor the smugness she would feel about leaving her speechless under any other circumstance. Instead of thinking of a comeback, Ellie shifts her weight almost awkwardly and changes the subject. “Your dependence on sedatives is really starting to concern me, Joan.” And Joan hates that she does sound it,  _ concerned. _ After all she’s done, she still thinks she has the right to feel concerned for her favorite  _ lab rat. _

“Go to hell.”

Wadsworth sighs. “You know, I really was hoping we could have a civil conv--”   
  
“Go. To. Hell.”

Joan watches as the director of the facility takes a second, brushes off her blazer, and plasters an almost sickening smile across her face. “You don’t know the meaning of hell, Joan. Not yet.”

With that, she walks away.

Joan can’t help but snort. Ellie and her fucking fear tactics.

_ ‘You don’t know the meaning of hell.’ _

Bullshit.

The next time she finds herself strapped down, it doesn’t take her by surprise.

No, they go about it her least favorite way. By opening the door to her cell, grabbing her by the hands and marching her down to the room where she supposes they’ll be conducting today’s experiment.

They take her to a lab. That and the fact that there doesn’t seem to be an atypical present is what tips her off to the fact that this is probably a drug trial of some sort. Maybe Ellie’s taken another crack at immunity. They strap her down quite easily. She’s five feet tall, malnourished, and outnumbered. Even what little resistance she could attempt likely wouldn’t have had much effect. Thankfully, she isn’t gagged. The reason for which is revealed when the door on the other side of the room opens only seconds later, and in walks Wadsworth.

“Joan!” she greets her eagerly, as though she’s waving to a friend across the street, not staring down at a human test subject strapped to a table. “Today’s experiment is a big one.” She can tell that by the grin on Ellie’s face. She doesn’t know that she’s ever seen her this excited about an experiment. As Ellie attempts to make conversation, she watches scientists crowd around her, once again hooking her up to machines and monitors.

“Wonderful,” she replies deadpan.

“Come on, Joan. I think you’ll be very excited if this goes as planned.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered if you could do it too?”

_ “What?” _

“The things your brother can do. It’s biological, Joan. It’s a  _ gene. _ It has to be. Haven’t you ever wondered if you had it too?”

That makes her go quiet a bit. “I... Yes. I’ve wondered.” She’s too taken aback to not answer honestly, besides, that’s probably the answer Ellie would have tried to prod out of her eventually. “But I’m well past the age at which atypical abilities typically present. It’s definitely possible, though entirely unlikely, and I really doubt--”

“Exactly, Joan. It’s possible. And it might be even more possible after today.”   
  
If she had been told that that was a possibility a year ago, she’d be so curious, fascinated,  _ excited. _ But now there’s an uneasy feeling settling over her. She’s scared. “How?”

“Well, obviously the end game here would be to be able to give abilities to a person with  _ no  _ atypical genes. But for now, this would be a major step in the right direction. The plan is to attempt to activate your atypical gene, with…”

Joan tries to move her head enough to watch as Ellie disappears briefly out of her line of sight. She returns with a vial in hand.

“... _ this _ experimental serum.”

The gears in her head are turning. This is a thing they’d talked about before, in theory. Things she’d read papers and hypotheses on, but the full idea had never been developed enough to pose an actual experiment. She knows how they’ve speculated at making this work. “How did you make it? What’s-- What’s in the serum?”

Ellie seems to notice the sheer anger beginning to spread across Joan’s face. “Joan, you have to understand. We have a very unique opportunity with you two here.”   
  
“You used his DNA.”   
  
“Yes. We did.”

“How  _ dare you. _ ”   
  
“Really, Joan, you know that this is hardly one of the most invasive experiments we’ve--”

“No! I don’t  _ care! _ You tortured him without end, took away whatever semblance of a life he had left and now you’re still fucking  _ using him. _ God, he can’t even escape from you people and your sick games by being  _ unconscious.” _

“You need to calm down.”

“I need to calm down? No! Fuck you!  _ Fuck you!” _

Ellie doesn’t respond to Joan’s shouting, only sighs and turns towards someone who she can’t see. “Dr. Carlton? Yes, can you hand me the-- thank you.”

She watches as Ellie is handed the dreaded piece of cloth that is usually stuffed in her mouth during experiments as she continues to shout obscenities at her. She’s in the middle of forming another angry insult as she feels it being crammed into her mouth, making what she was about to yell be cut off and morphed into a muffled cry. Her head is pushed up a bit and she feels the cloth tied tightly around it.

Then, Ellie picks up a syringe. She tries to put up a fight but Ellie grabs her arm and holds it in place as she injects her with the serum.

The injection itself stings a bit, but the prick of a needle is a discomfort Joan has grown incredibly used to. The real pain comes seconds later. It feels like fire in her veins. Like something toxic is running through her, sending jolts through every nerve, making her want to scream.

She tries to. It comes out muffled.

The pain continues to shoot through her, causing her to squirm and shout as the people around her all rush to observe and murmur about whatever is happening on the monitors. Her screams grow louder, as, with time, the pain only continues to get worse.

She feels tears start to run down her face and before she knows it she’s  _ writhing _ half of it being her body’s response to the pain and half of it being desperation. A call for attention. Maybe someone will see that she’s hurting and try to figure out what was going wrong, try to make it  _ stop, _ or better yet just put her under.

And thankfully, it looks like someone is on their way to do just that. A person in a lab coat is approaching her with another syringe and a concerned expression. Then, a voice comes from behind her. “No, don’t sedate her. She needs to learn to cooperate.”

Just the sound of Ellie’s voice causes her to be overcome with anger as yet another wave of pain rolls through her. This time, it’s excruciating. She feels like every nerve in her body has been set on fire and stabbed with a thousand needles, then an intense throbbing feeling grows in her head.

She screams as loud as her lungs will allow her, twisting her body at every angle possible as she tries to writhe against her restraints. The headache dissipates and as it does, she realizes that the  _ burning _ is gone too. All that’s left is a faint buzzing. An  _ energy _ running through her that leaves just a bit of a sting.

She keeps thrashing.

She’s  _ angry,  _ and she’s scared, and she’s been in so much pain for so long that it’s finally catching up to her, and the jolt of energy she’s still feeling is demanding she do something with it.

She must be getting on Ellie’s nerves enough by now, because soon enough, she’s being unhooked. Several guards are rushing into the room and Ellie is demanding they ‘take her back to her cell till she calms down’. She’s grabbed by the arms and practically carried from the room as Ellie cuts through ahead of the guards and down the hallway.

There’s still a burning rage in her gut, so much so that her skin is practically itching with the need to make her pay. Then, all of a sudden her thrashing gets more violent. She pushes back at the guards, resisting their attempts to gain control of her as she fights to break free of their grasp, and before she knows it she’s charging down the hall after the woman who ruined her life.

Wadsworth doesn’t want to sedate her, to let this fucking misery  _ stop. _ That’s fine. She’ll change her mind.

She tackles Ellie to the ground with a surprising force, but just as she raises a fist, she feels herself being pulled back. She resists again, taking a swing at the guard closest to her, then another, then another. Soon, even more guards are surrounding her, attempting to take her down as she attacks them desperately. She hits, bites, punches, kicks. She can barely keep track of her own movements as she attempts to fend off one after the other.

Only one guard really piques her interest. The one carrying her relief in a small syringe.

She tackles another guard to the ground desperately and sure enough, the other comes rushing over, sticking the needle into her neck the second she leaves herself exposed.

She feels dizzy for a second. And then she feels another rush of energy. She throws a punch and sees a spurt of blood as her fist connects with the nose of the guard beneath her.

The sedative isn’t kicking in yet and the rushing of adrenaline through her veins remains more intense than anything she’s ever felt, as though there’s something vicious and violent inside of her that  _ needs _ to make itself known.

Why isn’t she losing consciousness yet? Why is she still angry, and fighting, and in pain? What the hell was in that serum?  _ What did they do to her? _

She feels another syringe and another set of hands trying to pull her back, and again, the world spins for only a minute before the surge of energy returns. Before she knows it, she’s being pinned against the wall. Several people are holding her down as she’s injected with sedative after sedative, none of them stopping her from kicking and shouting, only weakening her slightly.

She can hear Ellie shouting at them to stop, telling them that that’s enough,  _ warning _ them that they were going to hurt her. But every time they allowed Joan to even so much as regain her strength from a brief bout of drug-induced dizziness, she lunged at them with all her might and they had to struggle just to get her back up against the wall.

They’re not listening to Wadsworth anymore. They’re doing they’re best to stay unscathed as Joan rages against them, tranquilizing her and watching her grow dizzy and get over it over and over again, hoping that eventually something will take.

And then, just as she’s growing fatigued, just as the thrum of energy is starting to slow down, just as she feels herself begin to weaken, she’s stuck with another needle.

This time, her muscles start to relax. Within seconds, she goes limp, being held up on her feet only by the arms of the guards still pinning her to the wall.

Only, it doesn’t feel as peaceful as it had before. Something feels  _ wrong. _ Something is starting to hurt,  _ everything _ is starting to hurt. It feels like she’s being hit by everything they’d given her at once, which, she’s starting to realize through the intense dizziness and stupor, she probably  _ is. _

She feels herself start to shake as the room starts to spin.

She can’t breathe.

Ellie is yelling. Ellie is yelling a lot, and she can barely make out most of it. She can make out her name, though. Why is Ellie calling for her? What’s happening? Where is she? Why can’t she breathe.

She feels herself hit the floor as her vision starts to spot with black and she struggles, taking all her strength just to try and take a breath.

She feels someone gripping her shoulders and she thinks she can make out Ellie yelling something, though her vision is fully fading to black now and there’s a faint humming in her head drowning out most sound.

Then, the burning pressure in her lungs releases, giving way not to air, but to calm.

Her vision seems to come back, not in the sense that she can see anything but black, but in the sense that she feels what she’s seeing is right.

There is no energy coursing through her. There’s no energy, no anger, no fear, no  _ pain. _ She feels light. Calm.

She feels happy.

The sound of her ears ringing is beginning to fade, and now, over it, she swears she can hear her brother’s voice.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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